


The Ideal

by twipen



Series: Of Noble Blood [1]
Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Cassandra Romance spoilers, Dancing with Cass, F/M, That's what happens when you turn me down for dancing Cass, Winter Palace Spoilers, both pre and post relationship, slightly jealous!Cassandra
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-12-29
Updated: 2014-12-29
Packaged: 2018-03-04 05:41:34
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,373
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2954333
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/twipen/pseuds/twipen
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>She watched him dance with a grace she wished she could mimic. His noble birth had done him well, and he flowed through the steps the same way he flowed through a battle, only gentler, and with much less blood. The thought made her smile, though his focus on the Grand Duchess quickly wiped it. They were speaking, and she couldn’t help but wonder about what.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Ideal

**Author's Note:**

> Spoilers for Winter Palace and Cassandra's romance

She told him they were here on business, and they were.

Cassandra supposed she had been startled when Inquisitor Trevelyan extended the invitation to her, and her reasoning for denying him was sound. They _were_ here on business, and they didn’t have time to engage in such pointless activities. Not to mention it had been _exactly_ what she had wanted him to say.

There were several good, justifiable reasons to turn him down. She could remember them all as she waded through the Orlesian peacocks that called themselves nobility. With every passing frill and plume she could remember why she wanted to get out of there as fast a possible, and why there was no time for them to engage in petty indulgences. No matter how much─

No. There was no time for thoughts like that either.

Or at least, that was what she was telling herself, up until she saw him, out on the floor with the Grand Duchess Florianne.

It was─ or rather─

How─

Had the Grand Duchess taken an interest in Inquisitor Trevelyan? He was a prominent subject for talk in the higher circles of Orlais, and very likely everywhere else; it wouldn’t be so out of place for the Grand Duchess to pay him special attention. Though to be dancing…

Dancing was not a romantic affair, not in Orlais, it was about power, prestige, and flaunting connections. The Grand Duchess was just making a show of getting a dance out of the Inquisitor. His first dance of the night, no doubt, something that could have been hers if she had─

No. Not now.

She watched him dance with a grace she wished she could mimic. His noble birth had done him well, and he flowed through the steps the same way he flowed through a battle, only gentler, and with much less blood. The thought made her smile, though his focus on the Grand Duchess quickly wiped it. They were speaking, and she couldn’t help but wonder about what.

And then they were the only ones left on the dance floor. Cassandra could have screamed─ it was something straight out of _Polished Pride_ (a book of noteworthy awfulness, thought not quite matching Varric’s _Swords and Shields_ ). She would have thought them reading from the very script if she did not know better.

Their steps were timed, perfect, not a single missed beat. They were embraced and focused, as if nothing existed outside of the two of them and the dance. They were so involved in each other, so sickeningly romantic, and it could have been _her_.

She could not have denied it anymore─ she wished very much to be the one in Grand Duchess Florianne’s place. Though he was the Inquisitor, and she could not imagine herself in a dress. She scowled. Of course, something like this was impossible. It was not for her, not with him, not now.

The gathering crowd broke into applause as the dance─ and the song─ ended, and Cassandra lead herself out of the ballroom. She had seen enough. She hated these stupid, Orlesian parties, their _Game_ , these Maker-forsaken _masks_ ─ she hated all of it. There was nothing left to do but wait to move out.

 

* * *

 

It was after a particularly strenuous battle with undead in the Exalted Plains that she knew she needed to speak with him. She had watched him fall, struck by an arrow in the torso. The mage, Dorian, had hurried to make sure the wound would not be fatal, and the Inquisitor trusted him, so she trusted him. At least this much. At least enough to hold back the rest of the horde instead of running to him herself. But she knew she had to speak with him.

She never expected the follow-through.

Yes, she loved poetry and flowers and candles, but those things were a list, the basics of every romantic’s dream, counted off to prove her point, that Inquisitor Trevelyan couldn’t be the man she wanted. But he pressed on, stubbornly, and she wondered if he had collected every candle in Skyhold to manage this many.

He charmed her with a silly poem he had picked out─ he was no literary enthusiast, that was for sure─ and he had stolen her heart with every effort he made to win it. The poetry, the candles, the flowers─ she had given him a list she thought impossible even to herself, and he had checked every single box, just to prove to her that she was worth it, and that he could be the man. It was so wonderful to feel worth it.

And it wasn’t until Emperor Gaspard’s representatives visited Skyhold that she had any reason to remember why she thought otherwise.

“Why did you dance with Grand Duchess Florianne at the Winter Palace?” It came out more accusatory that she had meant, so she did not turn to look at him when she spoke, and remained, instead, leaning against his desk.

“Come again?” She could almost see that confused, calculating look on his face as he tried to work out what she meant.

“You heard me.” Because she knew he did. She steeled herself and turned, bringing one leg up on the desk to be sitting on it.

“What brought this up?” His face was exactly what she thought it would be. She enjoyed that expression immensely. She crossed her arms gently and looked away casually.

“I am merely curious,” she replied, ignoring the part of her screaming liar. She was so very curious, yes, especially considering that the Grand Duchess was killed by their very hands later. But her curiosity was nothing compared to the small, fractional amount of jealousy she felt. It was doubt, but it was also not doubt. She could not say that she did not trust the Inquisitor and his love for her, but she couldn’t help but wonder…

Why Florianne?

She could pick emotions and questions as they flicked across his face lightning quick. He was formulating a response, she wondered what he would say. He smirked, oh no.

“Because the loveliest woman at the ball turned me down.” He was practically grinning now, the bastard. “Besides, Florianne approached _me_ , and it is beyond me to refuse a _grand duchess_.”

Cassandra’s lips almost twitched up into a smile, just briefly, a light blush painting her cheeks. She would not give him the satisfaction of winning this so easily, and she could not let him think he had won.

“It was an inopportune time,” she countered, huffing just slightly and crossing her arms. He stood up from his desk and walked around it until he stood just beside her. “It was a sound judgement.”

“Sound though it may be,” he spoke softly, grin rounded out to something a bit softer. She loved him like this, when privacy and free time was allowed to smooth out the edges of his flirts and mold them into something more romantic. “It seems the lady does regret. Otherwise she would not feel so threatened.”

She balked.

“I am _not_ threatened!” She growled, too late to remember he liked it when she did. He moved closer, and his hands found her waist. “Florianne is _dead_ , there is no possible threat to me.”

The Inquisitor stared for a moment, and something about that gaze made her feel like he could see everything inside her, it was a bit concerning.

“I love you,” he said eventually, curling a hand in the short hair at the back of her neck. She stood, almost as tall as him now, and pressed into a heated kiss.

“Yes, I know,” she replied. She knew she was being silly. Inquisitor Trevelyan loved her, just as she loved him, and however Florianne factored into it before, she was nothing now. He pulled back from her, stepping away and giving a sly smile.

“I wonder though,” he began, in a tone that left her suspicious, “if the timing is still inopportune.”

She would have asked him what he meant, if he had not held a hand out to her then. She smiled and took it, letting him sweep her into a tuneless rhythm, and right there, in the middle of his chambers, they wrote their own romance.


End file.
